


Dutch, Not Jersey

by Siria, thegrrrl2002



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Community: kissemdanno, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrrrl2002/pseuds/thegrrrl2002
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Danny has a cunning plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dutch, Not Jersey

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Kissemdanno](http://kissemdanno.livejournal.com/) challenge on LJ.

"Um," Steve said. He blinked once, twice, but his view of the game was still being partially blocked by Danny; he still had no idea what the hell was going on. "Danny, what are you doing?"

"Frisky, Steven," Danny said, his words muffled both by the beer he'd consumed and by the fact that he had his face buried against Steve's neck. "'m frisky _and_ handsy."

"Yeah, buddy," Steve said, trying to retrieve Danny's hand from where it had vanished down the front of Steve's pants. "Yeah, I can see that." 

"Hey, hey hey!" Danny complained. "I'm doin' something here." He batted at Steve's arm.

"Yeah, you're doing something. You're groping, that's what you're doing." 

"Yup," Danny said. "Exactly." He shifted up onto his knees, swung his leg around and settled on Steve's lap, blocking the TV completely. 

The next time Mary told him he had no patience, Steve was going to... well, maybe he'd have to edit it a lot, but he was going to bring up this moment as clear evidence of his patience and self-control. "But you're groping while you're drunk, Danno. And you've had a long day, and you don't really know what you're—"

Danny slapped a hand over Steve's mouth. "If you tell me that I don't know what I'm doing, Steven, I will yell at you. Very loudly. Lots. So much yelling. Because I'm _aware_."

"Danny—"

Danny's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I've been aware for a really long time and I don't know how to stop any more." 

"I'm not really sure what you're saying, here, Danny," Steve said, gentling his voice, "but maybe you should sit back down on the couch so we can talk about it."

Danny was caressing Steve's cheek, his thumb playing over Steve's lower lip. 

"Hmmm?" 

"The couch? You'd be more comfortable." Steve hoped desperately that once Danny settled back down on the couch, he'd doze off, or get distracted by the game, or do something other than straddle Steve's lap with all the touching. "Hey, do you want to order pizza?"

Leaning forward, Danny slid a hand up along Steve's leg. The muscles there twitched hopefully, traitorously, at Danny's touch. "Nope. Don't want pizza."

Steve sighed. "Could you please just—" Steve pulled Danny's hand from his face but somehow Danny's hand ended up curving around the back of his neck instead as Danny leaned forward, eyes focused on Steve's mouth. 

"I do not want pizza," Danny said, "because you are not pizza, ergo pizza cannot be what I'm in search of right now."

"Look," Steve said, because he did not want to be the kind of asshole who took advantage of a confused friend, no matter how persistent Danny was being. "Danny, you're drunk, you've had a tough day, you're—"

"I," Danny said, in what he clearly thought was a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm being _amenable_."

Steve squinted at him. "You're so drunk you can't keep on track with a conversation, but you can pronounce the word amenable?"

"You should really, really kiss me right now," Danny said. 

"No," Steve said, "I should not." Steve put a hand to Danny's chest, trying to hold him back, but Danny merely leaned into his touch. Steve really liked the solid feel of Danny's body, liked it a little too god damned much.

"Would it kill you," Danny said, "to be amenable for once yourself? Huh? Must you always, always, _always_ be so difficult?"

"What? I am not being difficult!" Steve thought quite frankly he was being very amenable, what with Danny all over him like this. He was the one trying to be a good guy, to be noble and not take advantage, despite how appealing Danny was in all his… amenability. 

"Because I'll tell you, it's not part of your charm. Your many, many charms, I will admit, but you're always so stubborn." Danny gave Steve a once over, eyes lingering on Steve's chest as his fingers toyed with the hair on the nape of Steve's neck. "Of course," he continued mournfully, "sometimes the stubbornness really works for me. I think I'm starting to develop a kink. That and dress blues."

Steve cleared his throat and tried to pull Danny's hand away from his neck. "Danny," he tried again, "you're drunk, and I don't really think you want to—"

Danny made a frustrated sound and fell back against the couch. He looked over at the TV, but from the way his jaw was set, Steve didn't think he was all that invested in whether the Jets won or lost. "You ever hear of the concept of Dutch courage, huh? You ever think that maybe, maybe I decided to get halfway to shitfaced on a Wednesday night because once again today, once again, because the laws of averages and human decency shit on me, once again we almost _died_ , Steve! And I would never have... I would never..." 

Danny still wasn't looking at him, but Steve found he couldn't look away from Danny's face: stubborn and painted in the flickering lights of the TV screen. He felt a little bit like he'd just been punched in the solar plexus, winded and halfway to dizzy. 

"So, you," Steve said, "You, uh—" He had trouble wrapping his mind around it, that this wasn't just some random drunken friskiness on Danny's part, wasn't just Danny needing a warm body to rub off against while he thought of someone else. This had been planned. Which was..."Wait. Get tipsy and throw yourself at me? That was your plan?" 

Steve felt obscurely offended.

"I never said I was good at this kind of thing," Danny snapped, still resolutely staring at the TV.

"That's smooth, Danny." Steve couldn't help but grin as it sank it—Danny's focus on him had been genuine all along. And all this time, Steve had thought he was straight. "Real smooth."

"Please." Danny closed his eyes. "Could we please just forget it, okay?" 

"No, no I don't think we can," Steve said. "You know why?"

"No," Danny said wearily, letting his head flop back against the headrest, eyes still closed. "But I have a sneaking suspicion that you're going to tell me."

"Well," Steve said, "first, there's the fact that if this is the level your technique's at, you don't get to laugh at the Smooth Dog stuff, okay?"

"There is always," Danny murmured, opening his eyes, "so much to be laughed at there."

"No more laughter," Steve said. "Because I have a game, a SEAL-team approved game, and your wooing is seriously subpar. And second..." And here he hesitated, because here the words were harder: here they were more important. "This was... you're not just looking for..." Steve made a hand gesture that he was sure was pretty universally understood.

"Uh huh," Danny said drily. "Yeah, you're the smooth one in this partnership." 

"You know what I mean, Danny." It was Steve's turn to scowl. 

Danny twisted around to face him. "If you are asking if I was just intending a random hookup because I'm feeling horny, the answer is no." All of a sudden, he sounded crisp and sober, like this was something he was certain about. "Because if I just wanted to get laid, there are much easier ways to go about it. Much, much easier, believe me."

"Okay." Steve nodded. "Okay." That giddy feeling was returning. 

"Okay?" Danny asked. "Good. I'm glad we've had this little talk." He scrubbed a hand over his face, briefly closing his eyes again. "Now that my intent is clear, please feel free to end this awkward moment by fleeing the room. I won't… I just had to try, okay? So this won't come up again, my apologies, no harm no foul, right?" 

"Danny," Steve said, then paused until Danny turned to look at him: until he was sure that he had Danny's full focus, that Danny could see the expression on his face. Steve hadn't drunk anywhere near as much as Danny had—even he wasn't so keen on mixing alcohol and painkillers—but right now he was betting his head felt just as light as Danny's did. "Danny, does it look like I'm fleeing this room right now?" Funny how it worked, seeing a sudden new possibility, the weird mix of clarity and giddiness it brought. Jesus, it must have been—it must have been _months_ , for the both of them, months at the very least, and Steve had been looking at the two of them all wrong.

Danny blinked at him. "No," he admitted, "but to be fair, I'm pretty drunk right now."

Steve took a breath. "But you weren't drunk when you decided on your... plan."

"No," Danny said, with some odd little wave of his hands that Steve didn't know entirely how to interpret. "Then I was perfectly sober." 

Steve nodded, and this was the moment when you made your best decisions when you were in command: when everything slotted into place and you could see your plan of attack, see how it was all going to work out, and you just went for it. "Good." 

He leaned in toward Danny, the leather couch creaking as he shifted his weight. Danny stayed perfectly still, watching from beneath his lashes as Steve came closer. Once they were nose to nose, Steve tilted his head and after a brief hesitation, pressed his lips to Danny's in a gentle, careful kiss. To his delight, Danny kissed him back just as carefully and time seemed to slow as they kissed again, and again, soft, sweet almost chaste kisses and yet it was enough to make Steve's head swim. 

"Wow," Danny said, bumping his nose against Steve's cheek. "That was...smooth." 

Steve smiled, still close enough that the movement made his lips graze against Danny's stubble. He could smell the last lingering traces of soap and cologne, layered over with the faint yeasty smell of beer. "Well," he said, "that's what happens when I make the moves on someone I like, Danny."

"Oh," Danny said. "That's what these are, these are moves of yours?" This close, Steve couldn't make out his expression, but Steve was pretty sure that Danny was smiling too. One of Danny's hands came up to rest almost hesitantly on Steve's arm—and that was what did away with the last lingering remnants of Steve's doubts, because Danny lived his life loud and exuberant, he pushed right on in, but whenever it came to the things he cared about, he was all earnestness. 

"Uh huh," Steve said. He leaned in again, kissed Danny again, thoroughly and insistently, slowly bearing him down against the couch. Danny was warm against him, the soft noises he made somehow louder than the excited yells of the game commentators; and it wasn't like Steve had never idly speculated to himself about Danny's mouth, not like he hadn't noticed Danny's body on the rare occasion Danny deigned to wear swim trunks, but he'd never let himself imagine something like this, Danny eager beneath him, because he wouldn't have been able to stand it. 

Danny shifted beneath him, stretching out on the couch and pulling Steve on top of him. "Not bad," Steve murmured against Danny's skin. "You got some moves of your own."

A soft huff of laughter and Danny nipped gently at Steve's chin. "Oh, I got moves, babe. You'll see." 

Danny's voice was full of promise and it was kind of amazing, to press his hips against Danny's, to feel Danny's hands slip under his shirt and caress his skin. There was strength there fit to match Steve's own, solid and compact, and Steve could already tell that he was going to enjoy testing it. This was definitely not how he'd imagined the rest of his day would unfold when they'd handed the drug runners over to HPD and Danny had suggested they celebrate with a couple of Longboards, but Steve wasn't objecting, not now. He tried to get an arm around Danny, but the back of the couch was in the way, and when he moved his legs, a pillow tumbled from the couch onto the coffee table, knocking over a beer bottle. 

Danny broke off the kiss. "Is that another one of your moves?" 

"Uh huh," Steve said, sitting up to pick up the bottle. Luckily it had been mostly empty and only a thin trickle of beer had leaked across the table and onto the floor. Shouldn't leave a stain. "Patented Neanderthal technique." 

"This rough and ready thing," Danny said, "I sort of like it, just promise me that the property damage won't get excessive here, babe. No grenades."

That startled a laugh out of Steve, and when he looked back over at Danny, it was to see Danny smiling at him in an uncomplicated, delighted sort of way that Steve could only remember seeing on his face a handful of times: there was no reservation there, no holding back, which was why Steve made the decision that he did. 

"Okay," he said. "I'm going to get you some water, some Ibuprofen, banana for potassium, and then sleep, okay? You can take my bed, I'll take the couch."

Danny squinted at him. "What? Steve, are you—" He scrambled to sit upright. "Listen, I told you, I _gave you an out_ , you can't just—"

Steve held up a hand. "No, Danny, no, listen to me! Believe me, there's nothing I'd like more than to..." He trailed off, considering how to phrase it, his brain supplying helpful suggestions like _pin you down, suck you off, let you fuck me until I come all over the couch, stains be damned_. "Than to keep going. But I want to know that the first time we do this, there's no room for doubt, okay? I'm not going anywhere, I just want to hold off until morning."

Danny eyed him speculatively. "First time, huh?" 

"Yes, I said 'first time'. As in first of many times, is that clear now?" Steve asked, wondering just how much it would take to convince Danny that he really was on board here. Steve was well aware that he had some trust issues, but he also knew himself well enough to know that when he committed, he went all in. He just hoped that Danny knew that, too. "Do you want me to sign a contract? Because I will, Danny."

Danny laughed, only it was more like a high pitched giggle, which was kind of ridiculous and Steve had to lean over and kiss Danny again, kiss his cheek, his neck, his ear and finally his giddy smiling mouth. "Got it?" Steve asked. 

"Got it," Danny answered, his words slurring together. "You and me. Tomorrow. It's on, buddy, it is so on." He flashed Steve a pleased smile and he looked pretty irresistible lying there, stretched out on the couch with one arm flung over his head, his hair mussed, his eyes sleepy. 

Steve shook himself and went into the kitchen and got the water, the pills, the banana, retrieved a spare toothbrush from his downstairs supply cupboard for good measure. Danny had stayed over before, of course, lots of times, but there'd usually been some forward planning involved. 

"Hey," he said when he walked back into the living room, "I'll get you one of my t-shirts and some sweats to sleep—" Steve's words were cut off by the fact that Danny was clearly already soundly sleeping, snoring faintly. 

Steve ducked his head and grinned, left the supplies on the coffee table. He grabbed some paper towels to mop up the spill from the table and floor before covering Danny up with a throw and leaving the TV on, turned down low, the way he knew Danny liked it. Steve stood and watched him for a moment before giving into temptation and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then he climbed the stairs to his own bed, and he might have been doing so alone, but there was a warm anticipation that curled low in his belly regardless—because it would be tomorrow soon enough.


End file.
